How To Fill Out Tax Forms
by Galaxy-Defending-Hopeful
Summary: One day, Tom and Dougie are alone in the bandhouse. Dougie is as bored as hell, and Tom is filling out tax forms. When Tom leaves the room, Dougie has an idea of how to entertain himself...that is, until, the tax forms are returned and Tom makes Dougie fill them in. Dedicated to kbeto. Swearing, no pairings, 2003!fic, cute.


**This is pretty much crack fic, dedicated to kbeto because I promised him a prompt fic but I haven't had the inspiration to write it yet. So yes...swearing, no pairings, fluffy. I don't own McFly (if I did, we'd have seen a lot more on the Attitude shoots).**

* * *

"Toooooooooooooommmmmm..."

Tom sighed and glanced up to see Dougie arching his back on the sofa and looking straight back at him, eyes wide and lips pouted. "What?"

"I'm boooooorrrrreeeeedddd..." Dougie moaned.

"I'm doing taxes, Doug. I don't think I can really amuse you."

Fifteen year old Dougie groaned.

"Why didn't you go out with Harry and Danny?"

"Because Danny's with some chick he met yesterday and Harry's with that chick Grace (I don't think she'll last more than a week) so I doubt they'd want me there. Why didn't _you _go with them?" Dougie replied, writhing around on the seat.

"I felt sorry for you stuck here by yourself, and I've got to do these anyway." Tom held up the thick wad of paper. Dougie gave another theatrical sigh.

"Why don't you go and have a walk, or do the shopping?"

"I'm only fifteen, you can't trust me with the shopping!" Dougie immediately said, fluttering his eyelashes.

"I'm going to the loo, and I swear, if you don't shut up when I get back I'm gonna make you shut up." Tom told him, halfway between smiling and sternness as he shifted up and ambled upstairs. Dougie's face split into a wide grin.

* * *

When Tom returned, he found Dougie quietly reading some book or magazine.

"Well, that's a surprise." Tom commented, sitting back at the table. Really, he should have suspected something when a tiny whine escaped Dougie. However, the younger boy quickly coughed to cover it up, and Tom shrugged it aside. Continuing to fill in the forms, he was glad when he heard the door open just as he sealed them in the envelope. He didn't bother checking them through – he'd done it as he went along, and it was probably fine.

"Hey!" Danny entered the room grinning, followed by a stony-faced Harry.

"What happened?" Dougie asked, confused by the distinct different between their faces.

"We went to a crappy little motel room." Harry told them. "And Danny here proceeded to shag not only his girlfriend, but mine as well!"

Tom laughed, as did Dougie.

"You'd already broke up, and I di'n think there was any point leavin' her..." Danny told Harry, faltering when Harry spun around, rage in his eyes.

"We broke up because you kissed her!" bellowed Harry, pushing Danny onto the floor. Tom immediately stood up with the envelope and went to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Dougie asked from behind the two scrapping lads.

"Hell, most likely." Tom replied.

* * *

A month later, a very official looking letter plopped through the post slot amid some junk mail, a pizza takeaway advert and a handwritten letter addressed to Harry (who was in bed with his new girlfriend Hannah and probably wouldn't read it for hours). Tom, who was by far the most responsible of them all, picked up the letter and slit it open. Reading it, his eyebrows furrowed further and further together, until...

"DOUGIE!"

After a few moments, the sleepy almost-sixteen year old ambled down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. Danny followed, looking less sleepy but more concerned.

"Dougie, was it you that changed my name to Gandalf McDumbledore on the tax forms?" Tom asked quietly, his voice almost conversational. He didn't reply verbally, but the snort that escaped him told Tom everything.

"I take it you also changed yearly income to 'None of your beeswax' and Harry's date of birth to 'the beginning of time'."

Slowly, Dougie nodded, utterly surprised by how calm Tom was.

"Dougie?"

"Y-yeah?"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Dougie had barely started to scamper up the stairs before Tom went after him, grabbing his pyjama leg to try and stop him. Dougie, however, was not phased by this, and continued to try and escape, allowing his pyjama bottoms to slide off of him and leaving Danny and Tom with a perfect view of his arse as he ran into Harry's room. Tom continued up the stairs and stood a little way out of the room, waiting for the inevitable shouts from Harry's girlfriend, and for Dougie to be thrown out. Sure enough, after a few moments Dougie jerked out of the door, and straight into Tom's chest.

"I-I can explain, Tom, it wasn't actually me..."

* * *

Tom had Dougie pinned down in a matter of seconds, and very calmly, quietly explained to him why he was an arsehole and exactly how he was going to kill him in the night.

"T-Tom, calm down, I'll do the bloody forms..." Dougie said, trying not to laugh at the distressed blonde atop him.

"Dougie, if you actually manage to fill in those forms I will give you a hundred pounds."

The humour in Tom's voice ruffled Dougie. "I bet you a foot rub that I can." he firmly replied. This was more than it seemed: Tom had notoriously bad smelling feet, and even going near them was a dangerous 'feat'.

"You're on. The sheets are on the table in the living room."

Neither boy moved for a second. "Err, Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you, um, move?"

Tom rolled off of Dougie, laughing. "I can't wait for my footrub."

* * *

An hour later, Dougie had barely dented the huge pile of paper. Both Danny and Harry had gained new respect for Dougie as he diligently worked through the forms, occasionally stopping to ask them what something meant ("I dunno mate, ask Tom." Danny had replied) or to go onto his computer and search for something. The terminology was ridiculous. It was like when Dougie had picked Media Studies for GCSE. He had been expecting an easy ride, and was instead greeted with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and diegetic noise and negative stereotyping. It was fun some of the time – filming adverts was very enjoyable – but the written analysis just about killed him. He had left school to join McFly just a few weeks before his first exams. Dougie began to think about what would have happened if he had stayed at school instead of joining the band. He'd be in Year 11 now, one of the older kids. He'd have gotten some of his exam results back, and possibly would be having extra tutoring to let him catch up on the almost certain failures in maths, physics, chemistry and biology. Instead he was recording an album with his three best friends, getting pissed every night and eating rather too much junk food.

"How you doing, Dougie?" Tom suddenly asked, peering around the door with a stupidly big grin on his face.

"I'm doing okay..." Dougie replied, using his arm to cover the significant pile of paper that he hadn't even touched yet.

"Willing to give in yet?"

"Never!"

* * *

Two hours later, however, Dougie had to admit defeat. He couldn't understand three quarters of the sheets, let alone interpret the cramped accounts that Tom had kept. Groaning, he knocked on Tom's bedroom door.

"Hi Dougie! What's up?" Tom asked, with a maddening smile.

"I give up. When do you want your foot rub?" Dougie asked.

"Ah, don't worry about that Dougs. They sent two lots of the forms to fill out – so I did them again. That was just to teach you a lesson."

The cheshire-cat smile on Tom's face quickly vanished as Dougie launched himself at Tom, fists pounding as the stress from the past almost four hours bubbled over.

"Thomas Fletcher, you ARSEHOLE!" Dougie shouted, punching Tom again and again. Tom squealed and squirmed, but Dougie's fifteen year old fury overpowered Tom's amused attempts to free himself easily.

"I just spent four bloody hours on those forms – you arse arse arse!"

Tom's bedroom door opened and there were Danny and Harry, both looking slightly panicky. When they saw what was going on, both laughed.

"What did Tom do to you, Dougie?" Harry asked, laughing as Dougie managed to land one fairly painful punch to Tom's left testicle.

"Those bloody tax forms! He's already done them!" Dougie shouted. After a moment, he seemed to have worn himself out and rolled off of Tom and onto the bed, panting. Tom rubbed his crotch area (Dougie packed a pretty good punch when he tried) and smiled at how tired the younger boy seemed.

"I am going to have a shower, wank and then go to sleep and you are going to bring me a cup of tea in four hours." Dougie quietly said, his voice even. As he loped out of the room, the other three laughed even harder.


End file.
